Chapter V

How tolerance may be admitted.

I venture to suppose that an enlightened and magnanimous minister, a humane and wise prelate, a prince who knows that his interest lies in having many subjects and his glory in their happiness, deigns to look over this shapeless and defective work. He supplies its deficiencies with his own understanding; he says to himself: “What will I risk by seeing the land cultivated and adorned by more hardworking hands, tax revenues increased, the state more prosperous?”

Germany would be a wilderness covered with the bones of Catholics, Evangelicals, Reformed Christians, and Anabaptists slaughtered by one another, if the Peace of Westphalia had not at last secured freedom of conscience.

We have Jews in Bordeaux, Metz, and Alsace; we have Lutherans, Molinists, and Jansenists. Can we not tolerate Calvinists and keep them in check on much the same terms as Catholics are tolerated in London? The more sects there are, the less dangerous each becomes; their number weakens them. All are restrained by just laws that forbid riotous assemblies, insults, and sedition, and are always kept in force by the power to compel obedience.

We know that several heads of families who have built great fortunes in foreign countries are ready to return to their homeland. They ask only for the protection of natural law, the validity of their marriages, certainty about their children's legal status, the right to inherit from their fathers, and personal freedom. No public churches, no right to municipal offices or high dignities: Catholics have none in London or in several other countries. It is no longer a question of granting vast privileges and fortified places to a faction, but of allowing a peaceful people to live, of softening edicts that may once have been necessary and are so no longer. It is not for us to tell the ministry what it can do; it is enough to implore its aid for the unfortunate.

How many ways there are to make them useful and prevent them from ever being dangerous! The wisdom of the ministry and Council, supported by force, will readily find the means that so many other nations employ so successfully.

There are still fanatics among the Calvinist rabble; but there are certainly more among the Convulsionary rabble. The dregs of the madmen of Saint-Médard count for nothing in the nation; those of the Calvinist prophets have disappeared. The great means of reducing the number of these maniacs, if any remain, is to leave this sickness of the mind to the care of reason, which enlightens humanity slowly but unfailingly. Reason is gentle, humane; it inspires forbearance, stifles discord, strengthens virtue, and makes obedience to the laws attractive, doing more in this way than force does to uphold them. And shall we count for nothing the ridicule that all respectable people now attach to religious frenzy? This ridicule is a powerful barrier against the extravagances of every sectarian. Past times are as though they had never been. We must always begin from where we are, and from the point nations have reached.

There was a time when people thought themselves obliged to issue decrees against anyone who taught a doctrine contrary to Aristotle's categories, nature's abhorrence of a vacuum, quiddities, and universals existing in things themselves. We have in Europe more than a hundred volumes of jurisprudence on witchcraft and the means of distinguishing false sorcerers from true ones. The excommunication of locusts and insects harmful to crops was once widely practiced, and still appears in several ritual books. The practice has passed; Aristotle, sorcerers, and locusts are left in peace. There are countless examples of these solemn follies, once so important. Others recur from time to time; but when they have run their course, when people have had their fill, they vanish. If someone today took it into his head to become a Carpocratian, a Eutychian, a Monothelite, a Monophysite, a Nestorian, a Manichaean, &c., what would happen? People would laugh at him as at a man dressed in an old-fashioned ruff and doublet.

The nation was beginning to open its eyes when the Jesuits Le Tellier and Doucin manufactured the bull Unigenitus and sent it to Rome. They thought they were still living in those ignorant times when peoples accepted the most absurd assertions without examination. They dared condemn this proposition, universally true in every case and at every time: “Fear of an unjust excommunication must not prevent anyone from doing his duty.” This was to condemn reason, the liberties of the Gallican Church, and the foundation of morality. It was to tell humanity: “God commands you never to do your duty whenever you fear injustice.” Common sense has never been more brazenly affronted; the consultors in Rome took no notice. The court of Rome was persuaded that this bull was necessary and that the nation desired it. It was signed, sealed, and sent; we know the consequences. Certainly, had they been foreseen, the bull would have been softened. The quarrels were fierce; the king's wisdom and goodness have at last calmed them.

The same holds for many of the points that divide Protestants from us. Some are of no consequence; others are more serious, but the fury of dispute over them has so subsided that Protestants themselves no longer preach controversy in any of their churches.

It is therefore this time of distaste, of satiety—or rather, of reason—that we may seize upon as a turning point and a pledge of public peace. Controversy is an epidemic disease nearing its end; this plague, of which we have been cured, now requires only gentle care. In short, the state's interest is for its exiled sons to return modestly to their father's house. Humanity demands it, reason advises it, and statecraft has nothing to fear from it.

How tolerance can be allowed.

I venture to suppose that an enlightened and generous-minded minister, a humane and wise prelate, or a prince who knows that his interest lies in having many subjects and his glory in their happiness, is willing to look at this rough and imperfect piece of writing. He fills its gaps with his own understanding. He says to himself: “What would I risk by seeing the land cultivated and improved by more hardworking hands, tax revenues increased, and the state more prosperous?”

Germany would be a desert covered with the bones of Catholics, Lutherans, Calvinists, and Anabaptists who slaughtered one another if the Peace of Westphalia had not finally secured freedom of conscience.

We have Jews in Bordeaux, Metz, and Alsace. We have Lutherans, Molinists, and Jansenists. Can we not tolerate Calvinists and keep them under control on roughly the same terms as Catholics are tolerated in London? The more sects there are, the less dangerous each one is. Having so many different sects weakens each one. All are restrained by just laws that forbid disorderly gatherings, insults, and rebellions, and that are always backed by the power to enforce them.

We know that several heads of families who have made great fortunes abroad are ready to return to their homeland. They ask only for the protection of natural law, the validity of their marriages, certainty about their children's legal status, the right to inherit from their fathers, and personal freedom. They ask for no public churches and no right to municipal offices or high positions. Catholics have none of those in London or in several other countries. It is no longer a question of granting vast privileges and fortified places of refuge to a faction. It is a question of letting a peaceful people live and softening decrees that may once have been necessary but are no longer so. It is not for us to tell the ministry what it can do. It is enough to appeal to it on behalf of unfortunate people.

There are so many ways to make them useful and prevent them from ever being dangerous! The wisdom of the ministry and the Council, backed by force, will easily find these methods, which so many other nations use so successfully.

There are still fanatics among the Calvinist rabble, but there are certainly more among the Convulsionary rabble. The lowest of the madmen of Saint-Médard count for nothing in the nation; those of the Calvinist prophets have disappeared. If any of these maniacs remain, the great means of reducing their number is to leave this mental disease to the treatment of reason, which enlightens human beings slowly but unfailingly. Reason is gentle and humane. It encourages forbearance, stifles discord, strengthens virtue, and makes obedience to the laws attractive, doing even more than force does to uphold them. And should we count as nothing the ridicule that all sensible, decent people now attach to religious frenzy? That ridicule is a powerful barrier against the wild behavior of every sect. Past times are as though they had never been. We must always start from where we are and from the stage nations have reached.

There was a time when people thought they had to issue judgments against those who taught any doctrine contrary to Aristotle's categories, nature's horror of a vacuum, the essential natures of things, or universals existing within things themselves. In Europe we have more than a hundred volumes of law on witchcraft and on how to distinguish false sorcerers from real ones. Excommunicating locusts and insects harmful to crops was once common and still appears in several ritual books. The practice has passed. Aristotle, sorcerers, and locusts are left in peace. There are countless examples of these solemn lunacies, once so important. Others recur from time to time, but when they have run their course and people have had enough of them, they disappear. If someone today took it into his head to become a Carpocratian, Eutychian, Monothelite, Monophysite, Nestorian, Manichaean, &c., what would happen? People would laugh at him as they would at a man wearing an old-fashioned ruff and doublet.

The nation was beginning to open its eyes when the Jesuits Le Tellier and Doucin manufactured the bull Unigenitus and sent it to Rome. They thought they were still in those ignorant times when people accepted the most absurd claims without examining them. They dared to condemn this proposition, which is universally true in all cases and at all times: “Fear of an unjust excommunication must not prevent anyone from doing their duty.” This was to condemn reason, the liberties of the Gallican Church, and the foundation of morality. It was to tell people: “God commands you never to do your duty whenever you fear injustice.” Common sense has never been defied more shamelessly. The advisers in Rome took no notice. The court of Rome was persuaded that this bull was necessary and that the nation wanted it. It was signed, sealed, and sent. We know what followed. Certainly, if the consequences had been foreseen, the bull would have been softened. The quarrels were fierce; the king's wisdom and kindness have finally calmed them.

The same is true of many of the points that divide Protestants from us. Some are of no consequence. Others are more serious, but the fury of the dispute over them has died down so much that today the Protestants themselves do not preach religious controversy in any of their churches.

We can therefore seize this time of disgust and weariness—or rather, of reason—as a turning point and a guarantee of public peace. Religious controversy is an epidemic disease that is coming to an end. This plague has been cured and now requires only gentle treatment. In short, the state's interest is for its sons living abroad to return modestly to their father's house. Humanity demands it, reason advises it, and sound policy has nothing to fear from it.